Robin's End
by RobinsRuleTheWorld
Summary: Sick of the constant fighting and desperate to prove himself after Bruce retires Robin, Dick runs away to solve a case even the world's greatest detective can't: the hidden link between the Russian mob and Harvey Dent's fall from grace. But the young hero's quest will lead him back into the arms of Nikolai and will have him questioning his very loyalties. Sequel to Becoming Robin
1. Chapter 1

**This is the long-awaited sequel to my story** _ **Becoming Robin!**_ **I highly recommend you read that fic first.**

 **The title for this fic is a work in progress, so if you have any suggestions, I'd be glad to hear them.**

 **Disclaimer: Big surprise, I don't own any DC characters or storylines. A section of the end of this chapter, however, draws from** _ **Robin: Year One**_ **.**

 **Warnings: As in the first fic, there will potentially be descriptions of self-harm in this story.**

* * *

"Richard. John. Grayson."

"Bruce. Thomas. Wayne." Dick ground his teeth and growled the words back. He was sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair outside the principal's office. Bruce had just come out from talking with Principal Henry, a man who had never liked Dick and was always looking for ways to ruin the sixteen-year-old.

Dick had _known_ , even before Bruce had walked in and glared at him before going to talk with the principal, that Bruce wasn't going to give Dick the benefit of the doubt for this one. No, because in Bruce's mind, it was always Dick's fault. He couldn't possibly have a good reason for beating the living shit out of three older boys despite the fact that he hadn't gotten into _one fight_ since Bruce had told him no when he was eight. Of course, that had never stopped the bullies from pulling shit with _him_ , but so long as Dick didn't fight back— _didn't fucking defend himself––_ Bruce was a-okay with whatever happened to Dick.

Dick snarled out loud at the thought, startling the tall, blond girl next to him. Oh, right. That's the other part Bruce was going to ream him for when they were in private. The man would no doubt believe that Dick had managed to rope the girl into this, some paranoid idea taking ahold of his guardian's head.

"Mr. Wayne," Artemis started, "really, the fight wasn't Dick's fault. I saw those boys––"

"Thank you for assistance, Miss Crock," Bruce interrupted abruptly, not giving her a chance to finish. "Richard. Car. Now. We'll talk about this at home."

Dick didn't move from the uncomfortable seat. He merely crossed his arms, slouched back, and returned Bruce's hostile glare. "Well, that seems unlikely," he snarked back. "We haven't talked about anything in months. Unless you count our screaming matches as talking. I don't think going 'home' is going to change that." Not like the Manor could be considered _home_. Not anymore.

"Car. Now," Bruce bit out.

Dick's scowl deepened impossibly further as he hauled himself up from the chair. He refused to even look at Bruce as he passed the man on his way out the office door. "This car ride is going to be sooo much fun," Dick mocked, unable to resist the urge to claim the last word just to know he had made the vein above Bruce's left eyebrow throb.

As expected, the trip was tense, angry, and silent. Dick seethed in the passenger's seat, knowing that Bruce would never think Dick had had a good enough reason for fighting. _Hell, he probably believes whatever crap Principal Halfwit-Henry came up with about the fight, even though he_ knows _that principal has had it out for me since I started at GA._

Dick and Bruce had been growing apart for months, a cold space taking up residence between them. They were supposed to be keeping it 'private.' Fat lot of good that did them. "Problems in the Playboy Prince's Palace?" had been the cover story in this morning's tabloids along with pictures from last night's gala—another thing that had Dick on edge—of Dick and Bruce rigidly glaring at each other amongst the sea of Gotham's 'elite.' Even the utterly blind press could see the rift between father and son. _It's been a long time since I've thought of him as a father. Now it's just Batman._

Dick resisted the urge to tap his foot in impatience at a particularly long red light. He wanted to get this all over with so he could go to his room, put on his headphones, and play his music so loud the rest of this fucked-up world ceased to exist. That was, as long as Bruce didn't take away his tech as part of whatever punishment the man was currently coming up with. He'd already taken Robin away from Dick after the teen had been shot in the shoulder by the Joker just over a month ago. (Never mind the fact that Dick was saving Bruce's life when it happened.) Bruce insisted that Robin was permanently retired. Dick disagreed.

Finally done with the waiting and the rigid silence, Dick started abruptly, "I know you said we'd talk about this at home, but since the Manor hasn't been any kind of home in months, I figure this is as good a place as any. So why don't you start on your 'disappointment spiel' while I ignore you until we get to the punishment part. Because we both know nothing I say is going to make a difference to you anyway."

Dick watched Bruce's hands tighten on the wheel. "You put three kids in the hospital, Richard."

"At least it wasn't the morgue," Dick muttered. Six words, and Bruce's impassive mask snapped. _Wow, a new record_ , Dick thought with some semblance of satisfaction. It quickly disappeared when Bruce's reply whipped out at him.

"That is your problem right there! You have no control. You don't take anything seriously. You treat everything like it's just a game to you, and there are no rules. Then you go and make a _cluster-fuck_ out of every situation on or off the field. _This_ is why Robin's been retired!"

Despite expecting harsh words from Bruce, Dick hadn't prepared himself for this. The fact that his mentor thought so little of him, thought that he just some disaster waiting to happen at every step…

It ripped Dick apart.

And of course, the only logical solution was to rip into Bruce right back.

"What do I need control for when you manipulate every part of my existence! If you're just going to tell me when and where and how to do everything, what do I need to even _think_ for? You micromanage everything in your life, even me and the League"—Dick could see Bruce grind his teeth against correcting him ( _"the League and me," Richard_ ), the overbearing jerk, which was exactly why Dick had phrased it that way—"and someday you're going to micromanage all of us right out of your life. Then you can sit alone in your Cave, and everything will be perfectly _controlled_ again."

It was a strike directly at Bruce's heart—the most vulnerable and heavily guarded part, but Dick knew his way through all of Bruce's defenses. Part of Dick––the part that remembered how Bruce had found Dick, beaten and shattered, and carefully put him back together again––filled with shame and regret as soon as the words left his mouth. A bigger part of him, though, could only think of the recent nights, weeks, months he had stood in front of his bathroom mirror, desperately trying to convince himself not to grab for the blade again. But he had (mostly) broken that habit, and he'd suffered through too many relapses to go through it again now. Now, when he didn't know what—if any—support he'd be able to drag out of Bruce.

The rest of the ride passed in angry (simmering, boiling, seething) silence. Dick stared out the window and tried to ignore the occasional creaking of the steering wheel under Bruce's too firm grip.

If the Manor hadn't become as much of a prison as a home within the last year, Dick would have felt relief at seeing it growing larger as they approached. Instead, Dick just felt resigned and angry. Because he felt lost. Because he didn't have a _home_ anymore. Because this _whatever-it-was_ was all he had left. Because not even Alfred was going to be able to fix what Bruce and Dick had broken somewhere along the line.

Because he didn't even know why. He was just resigned and angry and confused and sad and hurt.

Before the car even stopped in the large garage, Dick was pulling the child lock up and jumping out, his backpack slouched off one shoulder. As Dick's hand grabbed the door that would take him into the house and away from this painful tension, Bruce spoke. "You're grounded until further notice. That means no tech, no friends, and no Mount Justice."

Dick froze, every muscle stilled. He wanted to spin around and scream, "You can't do that! You can't!" He wanted to argue it with Bruce. He wanted to cry out that Robin and Richard were two different people, that Robin couldn't be punished because Richard had fucked up again. He wanted Bruce to see reason.

Dick did none of those things. After a long, still moment, he turned the doorknob and continued into the mansion, Bruce's words uncontested and unacknowledged. _He wouldn't care what I have to say, anyway._

"I want your phone in the kitchen and all other technology outside your door."

* * *

Alfred was cleaning countertops in the kitchen when Dick stormed through the room, not even looking at Alfred as he passed with shoulders hunched in, expression stormy, backpack hanging haphazardly from one arm, and school uniform in disarray. He exited through the door on the opposite side of the kitchen from the garage-side entrance, slamming his phone down on the counter at the last second. Alfred's eyes caught on the blood that splattered Dick's right sleeve, and he easily surmised what had happened today.

"Good afternoon, Master Richard," he spoke, loud enough for Dick to hear before the door slammed shut between them.

Alfred continued to wipe down the counters, waiting for his other charge to work up the will to enter the kitchen. When Bruce had still not managed it after two minutes had passed, Alfred raised his voice, "I hope you're not planning to find another way into the house just to avoid me, Master Bruce." After so many years, Alfred could hear Bruce silently cursing in his head. From upstairs, he heard a bedroom door open and slam shut. The noise was echoed by an all too familiar throb of pain in the old man's heart.

Seconds later, Bruce entered the kitchen. The impeccable suit and carefully controlled movements would have made him an exact contrast to Dick's entrance and swift exit if it weren't for the equally frustrated, resigned, angry expression that also consumed the younger man's features.

Alfred remained silent, waiting for Bruce to stop glowering at nothing in particular. Sure enough, three minutes later Bruce exclaimed, "He put three kids in the hospital, Alfred! What am I supposed to do with that? Never mind how wrong that alone is, but the _risk!_ Artemis was right there. She saw the whole thing. If I've told him once, I've told him a thousand times how important it is to not to endanger his identity. He has no concept of control!"

Alfred took the time to finish the last of the counters before pulling out a mixing bowl and a cookie tray. He would need an excuse to get Master Richard to open the door for him later, and Alfred's homemade chocolate chip cookies were perfect for the job. When all the ingredients had been gathered and without turning to look at his charge, Alfred asked lightly, "How long has it been since Master Richard last got in a fight at school? Despite repeated attempts from the other children to goad him into it?"

Bruce huffed out a breath and grudgingly answered, "Eight years. But—"

"And did he have good reason for his actions then, however excessive they might have been?"

"Yes, but—"

"So is it possible he might have had good reason for his actions this time, especially considering what day it is?

Bruce's lips pulled tight—the only slip in Bruce's now ever-present mask—and Alfred, despite his many years of knowing the man, couldn't tell if it was because his charge had forgotten the date or if he had remembered and acted as he had nonetheless. Alfred honestly didn't know which one he hoped it was, considering the recent state of the family.

After a too-short moment—too short for Bruce to have honestly considered Alfred's words, too short for him to have changed his mind, too short for him not to have just moved onto the next topic, ignoring what he didn't want to hear—Bruce rallied. "It's not just today, Alfred. For months he's been impossible to deal with. Making foolish mistakes and acting overconfident. Consistently ignoring my orders and arguing with me. He's almost been killed twice in as many months, and he's _damn_ lucky I got there before Dent or the Joker killed him." It was only because he knew what to look for that Alfred heard the slight hitch in Bruce's tone. Alfred chose not to mention that Dick had saved Bruce's life during one of those incidents. "The press is all over his every action after what he did at the last charity gala—we wanted their attention, but not _that_ kind of attention. And we're lucky they haven't swarmed the Manor yet after today's fiasco. I don't know what to _do_ with him!"

Alfred put down the cookie dough he would never admit to being tempted to eat directly out of the bowl and waited until he was sure Bruce was done. "For now, give him space." Alfred made sure to hold Bruce's eyes to make sure he got the message. "If you talk to him right now, it will amount to nothing but more screaming. Tonight, after you've both had time to calm down, you can try talking _with_ him—not at him." The old butler was very firm on that one. God knew Bruce wasn't often clear on the distinction.

* * *

Dick haphazardly threw things around his closet, too upset to care about the mess he was leaving behind. Tears blurred out his vision, making it harder to find his goal.

All this shit had started when that whole thing went down with Dent in the courthouse a year ago, Dick knew. Bruce lost a friend. Batman lost an ally and gained an enemy.

And Dick lost a father.

Bruce had been obsessive about the whole thing ever since. He thought there was some kind of deeper mob connection or something. He'd finally linked it to the Russians last August, but refused to tell Dick. ( _"I'm trying to protect you, Robin!"_ ) The young vigilante had had to find out on his own, and then the real fighting had started. The man had been frigid towards Dick and completely unbearable with Robin ever since. The only attention he gave to Dick anymore was to criticize the young hero.

 _He thinks I'm incompetent._

"Well, fuck him!" Dick snarled, wiping tears from his eyes as he finally found the small duffle bag tucked away at the bottom of the closet. He hefted it out of the closet and checked the contents quickly before swinging it onto his back. _I'm just as good a detective as he is! Just as good a hero!_

Stepping into the bedroom, his eyes fell to the side table near the bed and the folder paper on top of it. _You'll see, Bruce. You'll see._

* * *

Some hours later, Alfred knocked on the door and opened it, a plate of cookies in hand. "Master Richard…" The forced cheer fell from his voice. His eyes scanned the empty room, took in the mess of a closet, the open window…and the single note on the bedside table. Placing the cookie tray down, Alfred sat heavily on the bed and picked up the note.

 _Dear Bruce…_

 _I guess it's time for me to move on. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do if I'm not allowed to help you anymore. Alfred doesn't need to worry about entertaining me and taking care of you, too. You don't want a partner. And you don't need a son. I'm sorry I failed you. I won't forget everything you've given me. Thanks for teaching me how to be strong._

 _-Dick_

"Oh, Master Richard… Be safe…"

* * *

 **So, what do you think? I'll likely be updating this story biweekly (no, seriously this time!), but maybe we'll all get lucky and it will be weekly.**


	2. Chapter 2

Dick's hands tightened around the straps of the duffel bag on his back. The office building in front of him had long ago been abandoned by its original owners, but it had not fallen into disrepair due to the efforts of its new, more clandestine residents. The dark red brick was worn but solid. The windows were still mostly boarded over from when the building had been deserted. Four stories rose out of the ground and ended in a flat top, similar to many of Gotham's business-district buildings. It was half-covered in shadows from the setting sun.

A large thug leaned casually back against the front door. He was illuminated by a single, yellow light above the doorway. The twenty-something-year-old man was bulky on top, muscles stretching his black T-shirt to its limits. His worn jeans, on the other hand, didn't seem to hide any significant muscle. _Not much of a fighter_ , Dick noted. The man's face was wide, thick with hard fat. It made his eyes appear small and narrow above a broad-based nose. A long forehead led to a shaved skull.

Dick had been standing opposite the building for nearly an hour, trying to convince himself to go in, trying to convince himself to run away and never look back. If he waited any longer, Bruce was sure to notice his absence and start searching for his missing ward. _One guess as to where I ran off to, Bats._ It would take longer for Bruce to get here than to deduce where Dick had gone. The man should have known that pushing Dick away rather than involving him in the case would only lead him here. World's greatest detective, he may be, but the man's a moron when it comes to human emotion.

The shadows finished engulfing the building at long last. _Now or never_.

Taking a deep breath, Dick stepped forward out of the shadows and crossed the street. The thug's eyes immediately jumped to the small teenager approaching the building. He straightened up and crossed his arms, scowl settling on his face.

 _Why so serious?_

Making his features as stern as he could, Dick demanded, "Take me to your leader."

The thug's scowl deepened.

 _Geez, no sense of humor at all._

"I'm here to see Nikolai."

Scowl still in place, the thug reached back with his left hand and knocked on the door. A few seconds later, it opened, revealing a young woman in her late twenties with short brown hair, gray eyes, and an angular face. Jeans and a tight, black tank top covered a muscular build. Wide leather bracelets sat over both wrists; Dick was too far away to make out any symbols or patterns on them. Mouth set in a hard line, she snapped, "What?"

The thug gestured at Dick. "The kid says he's here to see Nikolai."

The woman glanced dismissively at Dick before focusing back on the thug. "So. What, now we just let anyone inside 'cause they wanna see the boss?" Her voice held a hint of a Russian accent.

Seeing that he was losing his chance, Dick spoke up, "Maybe you should let Nikolai decide who he does and doesn't want to see."

The woman finally turned and studied him with narrowed, steel gray eyes. After a long moment, she let out a disgusted sigh and muttered, "Your funeral, kid," before turning to stride back into the building.

Dick jumped to follow before anyone could change their minds.

Inside, the vestibule opened up into what once was the office building's lobby, a 15-by-20-foot, rectangular room. The large secretary's desk in the far-right corner from the outer door was the only remnant of the building's old occupants. It was still used on occasion, if the neatly stacked papers were anything to go by. The cinnamon-brown carpet and tan walls were likely left over from the building's office days, as well. The rest of the lobby had been turned into some kind of living room with a seemingly unnecessary amount of bean bag chairs and couches scattered throughout the room.

Dick followed the woman through the room to a wide hallway on the far wall, to the left of the desk. The thug remained outside.

The hallway was similarly colored to the front room. Scattered doors broke off the hallway, most open enough for Dick to peek inside as they passed. One led to a long room filled with lockers and trunks. Another led to a bathroom with a wall of several stalls and urinals opposite the sinks and a room-length mirror. Another led to what must have been a storage room, but was such a cluttered mess Dick couldn't tell what it was supposed to be storing. Office supplies and weapons, it seemed like from the short glimpse Dick was able to manage. The last door on the right was closed but had a sign that read "Stairs" on it, so Dick felt it was safe to assume what hid behind that one.

When they reached the end of the hallway, the woman stopped and knocked on the wooden double doors that barricaded them from the final room on this floor. Two quick knocks, a pause, and three slow, off-beat knocks. Then she opened the door on the right.

The room that was revealed was large, roughly 50 feet long and 30 feet wide. It was two stories tall. Above the first story, the wall behind Dick turned into a guard rail protecting what looked like another living room. In front of him, was only open space. On either side of the room, two long tables stretched the length of the room. Several people were working at each table, but stopped to look when Dick and the woman entered the room. On the far side of the room was another long table, behind which sat a large, ebony chair with red cushions. It was currently unoccupied, likely because its owner stood on the opposite side of the table, talking casually with two teenage boys.

Behind the chair's owner stood two boys Dick remembered both vaguely and clearly. In their mid-twenties, the two brown-haired, brown-eyed brutes were exactly as Dick remembered. Covered in scars and tattoos, the twins were well-muscled all over and mulish in expression. One had a blocky jaw, droopy eyes, and a thin mouth; the other had a narrower face, a wide nose, and round eyes under bushy eyebrows. To this day, Dick still didn't know which was Jack and which was Dan.

Dick finally allowed his eyes turn to the one person he'd been both wanting to avoid and to meet. Nikolai, also in his mid-twenties now, was tall and muscular, but more of a swimmer's build than the weight-lifter's build Jack and Dan had. The scar that stretched diagonally from his hairline to just under his left eye was as harsh as ever, and not for the first time Dick wondered where he had gotten it. The tattoo sleeves Dick knew covered Nikolai's arm from wrist to shoulder were currently covered by a red, wool sweater. Unlike when Dick had last known Nikolai, his head was no longer shaved. Now, straight black hair was pulled back into a tight, short ponytail. Intrigued, green eyes stared intensely at Dick from across the room.

Dick remembered the first time those eyes had locked onto him.

" _Who do we have here, boys? Ain't he a pretty one!"_

The young boy had been terrified then.

" _You're the new meat here, pretty boy, which means you have a lot to learn. And I'd be glad to be your teacher."_

Dick wished he could say he felt the same now.

" _Something happened to pretty boy's face. He ain't so pretty anymore."_

He wished he could say he was appropriately afraid, hardened against what he knew was coming.

" _You did well, pretty boy. You did very well."_

Because he should be.

" _You had a future with me, pretty boy. Now you have nothing."_

He really should.

" _I promise you, pretty boy, we'll see each other again."_

But it would be a lie.

Dick remembered all the pain and relief, grief and joy, humiliation and pride, degradation and honor he had felt at Nikolai's hand. His left shoulder throbbed, both in remembered agony and phantom comfort. Even as a familiar rock of anxiety made its home in his stomach, the back of his neck felt bereft and cold.

Never breaking eye contact, Nikolai lifted his left hand and requested Dick over with a leisurely wave of two fingers. It was a gesture Dick remembered well.

Dick willed his brain to come up with something flippant to say. To rebel against the order (and it most certainly was an order, despite the casual appearance) the way he had become so accustomed to doing with Bruce. His brain gave him nothing.

Almost without conscious thought, his feet carried him across the room and stopped in front of Dick's old tormentor. Dread and anticipation coiled in his stomach, right alongside the anxiety. If Dick had been able to pay attention to anything but Nikolai, he would have noticed that the room was silent, all attention on them.

Nikolai reached forward and laid his hand on Dick's nape, a feeling so familiar and long-absent Dick almost gasped. The older boy leaned in close and grinned, "Well, pretty boy. What are you doing here?" His voice was gruffer than Dick remembered.

Blood pounded in his ears, and his breathing became harsh. _Speak, you idiot!_ "I–I ran away." _Nice start,_ Dick's mind sneered at him. _Stuttering again like when you were eight._

Nikolai's eyes gleamed. "And what, pray tell, are you doing _here_?"

Dick's mind went into a panic. _Does he not want me here? I thought he said we'd be together again!_

 _Never mind that! Tell him the cover story!_

 _Will it even work if he doesn't want me?_

 _You shouldn't_ want him _to want you, dammit!_

Words finally stumbled out of Dick's mouth. "I–It was the only place I could think of going.… You told me, b–back then, that Br–Wayne wouldn't truly want me…wouldn't love me." _How right he was!_ one part of Dick's mind snarled. Another part shouted back, _Shut it! Bruce loves me!_ "You were right. We've been fighting for months. I couldn't stay there any longer." _That part's not even a lie._ "You were the only one I could think would help me."

When the words stopped coming, Dick swallowed hard and waited.

Knowing, green eyes bore into Dick's own.

Dick's heart pounded loud enough to block the sounds of his breathing. Anticipation…apprehension gripped his mind. _What if he turns me away? Where will I go? I can't go back to the Manor until I prove myself to Bruce. Until I prove to him that I'm still capable of being Robin._

The corners of Nikolai's lips pulled up. His hand slid from the nape of Dick's neck to tilt the younger boy's chin up. "And help you I will, pretty boy," he cooed. "You'll always have a place with me.

"Nadia," he called to the woman who had led Dick here, "set up our newest recruit with a room."


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry about the wait, guys, but technically I am still under the two week mark, which is what I'm shooting for** **. Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Dick hurried to keep up with Nadia's longer strides. Though Dick had hit his growth spurt a few years earlier, a life of acrobatics meant he'd never be tall. (At sixteen, he was just below average height at five-foot-nine.) Nadia was at least ten years his senior, and she had long, muscled legs and a purposeful stride that quickly outpaced Dick.

The younger boy caught up with her on the stairs. On the second floor, the stairs ascended through a large living room that overlooked the large room they had just left Nikolai and the others in. Just in front of the stairs, a charcoal-gray felt couch overlooked the balcony rail to observe the floor below. On the far side of the room, a flat screen TV worthy of the Manor was surrounded by a sectional, a loveseat, and several beanbag chairs. To the left of the stairs on the near side of the room, a well-kept pool table was surrounded by even more beanbag chairs. The living room opened into another hallway in the space between the sectional and the pool table. Dick couldn't see what was down that way.

Looking back to Nadia intending to ask, Dick found that the older woman had continued up the stairs without him. Dick hurried to catch up.

They stopped on the third floor. Unlike the rest of the building Dick had seen so far, the rooms on this floor were relatively small. The stairs opened into the bend of a U-shaped hallway. Doors lined both the outer and inner walls of the hallway. The doors were more widely spaced along the outer bend and the opposite leg of the hallway, leading Dick to believe that those bedrooms were for the higher-ups in Nikolai's group. Get a promotion, get a bigger room. _What a career incentive!_

Nadia led him to one of the smaller rooms along the inside-column of the U-shaped hallway, a bored and slightly exasperated look on her face. The room was 10'x10' in size with nothing more than a twin bed, a side table, and a wooden dresser. Dick walked in and dropped his duffel on the bed. The black comforter matched the room's carpet. The walls were dark gray.

Dick turned to ask Nadia a question, but before he could speak she told him, "You can decorate however you like. Just don't screw with the structural integrity."

Dick gave her an odd look as he turned around. "That happen a lot?"

She snorted. "You'd be surprised."

Dick raised an eyebrow. "Very little surprises me anymore."

Nadia looked him up and down, unimpressed. He supposed the high-end jeans and the hundred-something-dollar blue and black hoodie (seriously, what was Alfred thinking?) didn't let on much to the life Dick had led thus far. "Gotta say, kid, you don't look like much. But if you know Nikolai well enough for him to bring you into the fold at a moment's notice, that's gotta mean something."

Dick swallowed down the tangle of emotions the unasked question evoked. "We met in Mini Arkham––the Detention Center––quite a few years back. We were…close. He––" _hurt me, twisted me, manipulated me_ ––"protected me. At least until I learned how to protect myself."

Nadia watched him carefully for a long moment, an inscrutable look on her face. Finally, "Well, now you can pay him back. Protect him."

Before Dick could ask anything more, she turned out the door, clearly expecting Dick to follow. "You'll start out as a _shestyorka_ , an errand boy." She walked down the hall, headed for the stairs. "Lowest on the totem pole. You do as you're told and nothing more. You perform the menial labor, provide intelligence for upcoming _dielo_ ––jobs. Maybe even work security for a job." She stopped abruptly on the stairs at the second floor living room. With a hard look in her eyes, she told him, "Unless explicitly told by Nikolai, myself, or any of the other _boyeviks_ , you _do not_ get involved in a job. You stay out of the main action. Understand?" She looked ready to break something if Dick didn't acquiesce.

Not wanting to find out if that something was his bones, Dick nodded. "I understand."

A short moment later, Nadia turned away and continued down the stairs. "Until Nikolai says otherwise, you are assigned to this _Bratva_ for support. Nikolai is our _avtorityet_ , the brigadier."

From his work as Robin, Dick knew that there were four _Bratva_ , or brigades, in the Gotham's Russian mafia. Each _Bratva_ was run by an _avtorityet_ , who had to earn their place by proving themselves to the rest of the mafia. Five or six _boyeviks_ , or soldiers, were assigned to the brigadier, as well as a number of _shestyorkas_. All four _Bratva_ reported to and paid tribute to the _Pakhan._ Nikolai's father. Rurik Bolkov. The one who would have ordered the attack on Dent.

"Right now, we have four _boyeviks_. I'm _krushas_ , an enforcer. My job is to protect our business from the other criminal organizations. Jack and Dan––the twins––are _byki_ , Nikolai's bodyguards. Where he goes, they go. Riley is our last soldier. She's the torpedo, our contract killer. Don't expect to see her around much; she likes to keep to herself."

They stopped on the first floor, but instead of returning to the large room they'd found Nikolai in, they turned left and stopped in front of the storage room Dick had noted earlier. It was an even bigger mess than he had first thought. _Where's the floor?_

"Here's your first job, kid. If you don't know where to put something, ask."

* * *

A week later, Dick sat in the middle of the somewhat less cluttered storage room, sorting through manila file folders. The floor was finally visible, and some of the shelves he hadn't been able to see earlier were vaguely organized. He'd gotten most of the weapons that had been strewn throughout the room into the locker room down the hall. Occasionally, he still found paint cans full of bullets or acid (sometimes both) randomly hidden under the rest of this mess. _Seriously, what is wrong with these people. Who does that shit?_

Finally making sense of the black market and above-board weapons orders in front of him––and deciding they provided no relevant information to his mission––Dick placed the file folders in the stack of financial documents he was assembling.

 _Bruce would be in heaven here._

The thought penetrated the barrier in his mind that Dick had stashed Bruce, Alfred, and his old life behind. Physically shaking it out of his head, Dick dropped back to lie on the ground. His head hit some broken pieces of an old office chair.

"Arrgh! Why don't you just throw this shit out!" Dick growled.

A snort sounded from the doorway behind him, causing Dick to tilt his head back. Nadia stood there watching him with a faintly amused look on her face. "We're a bunch of twenty-something-year-olds here. What do you expect? Haven't you seen all the beanbag chairs?"

Dick laughed softly. "It does seem a bit excessive." Rolling over and up to his feet to address her properly, Dick asked, "So what's up?"

"Nikolai wants you on reconnaissance, kid. We've got a meeting with the Italians coming up. He wants you to check out the building and some of the attendees. There's a file on the desk in the front living room. Check it out. If you've got any questions, find me or another soldier." Gray eyes turned to steel and locked onto Dick's. "Do _not_ , under any circumstances, engage with anyone." Her voice was made of stone, reminding Dick that she would likely break something of his if he disobeyed.

Over the last week and the occasional conversation, Dick had found that she was intensely loyal to Nikolai and the _Bratva,_ and was definitely not one to be messed with. That said, she was also good for a joke and seemed to like Dick well enough. He was a little sick of being called 'kid,' though. He hadn't been a kid in a long time. _Childish on occasion, sure, but certainly not a kid._

"Why'd Nikolai want me on this? Not that I'm complaining, but I mean, I'm hardly the most experienced here." That they knew of, at least. In the week Dick had been here, he'd spent almost every day cleaning the storage room. He had yet to leave the building (which actually worked out quite well for him since Dick was sure Bruce had to be stalking the building on a nightly basis). He'd barely even seen Nikolai, only catching short glances in passing. He should have been glad for that; it gave him more time to search for proof of the Russians' involvement in Dent's fall from grace without eyes on him all the time. Instead, he just felt vaguely pained by it. It reminded him uncomfortably of those days back in Mini Arkham when Nikolai had abandoned him.

"You're new." Nadia's voice brought him back to their conversation. "The Italians shouldn't recognize you. Even if they do, they _certainly_ shouldn't associate you with us." A couple days back, the rest of the building's residents had found out who he was and had a good laugh about the 'rich boy' running off to join the mob. Well, he certainly couldn't run off to join the circus, Dick had joked back.

"When do you want me to head out?"

"Sun's about to set. Grab whatever you need and check out the building and surrounding area tonight, then again tomorrow in daylight. The attendees can wait until tomorrow night."

"Got it." Dick gave her a parting smile and headed for the front room, where his first assignment folder waited for him.

She grabbed him by the upper arm as he walked past and gave him an impenetrable look. "Do not engage, kid."

Not breaking eye contact, he assured her, "I won't."

* * *

The sun had dropped below the horizon and left an already dark city blanketed in gloom by the time a teen boy in a dark hoodie strolled casually out of an abandoned office building in the old business district of Gotham. On top of another building two streets over, a cowled figure followed him.

Bruce had been stalking this building every moment he could spare from his time as Batman. To his knowledge, this was the first time Dick had left. Bruce had tracked him here after the kid disappeared from his room after the…altercation at Gotham Academy. Bruce had been waiting impatiently ever since to confront his ward and bring the boy back home. This was the first chance he had gotten.

He'd had to report Dick missing to the Gotham PD on the second day when it became clear that Dick wasn't going to change his mind–– _give up on this insane,_ dangerous _plan_ ––and come home on his own. _I explicitly told him not to do this, that this plan was foolish and ill-conceived. It's not safe. The risks aren't worth it._

On the road below, Dick took a sharp right down a side street, followed by a quick left. _He's trying to lose me._ Bruce smirked, the first sign of any positive emotion he'd shown in days. _Good luck, chum. I taught you everything you know._ Dick veered down another side street, this one swamped in darkness. _Perfect._ Bruce dropped down to the ground, ready to confront his wayward ward.

But there was no one there.

 _Shit!_ Bruce ran down the side street to where it emptied out on the other side, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dick running down the road to escape.

 _Nothing._

Batman haphazardly shot his grappling hook to the top of the building in front of him and ascended. The roof was a good vantage of the whole area, but Dick was nowhere to be found.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the delay. I haven't had internet for almost 2 weeks now (just got it back!). Enjoy!**

* * *

Dick let the sounds of the café wash over him––the baristas calling names, the coffee machines cracking beans, the clacking of the keys coming from his own laptop, the soft conversations and occasional spikes in people's voices. Of course, there was only one conversation Dick was really paying attention to: the Italian _capo_ and his two underlings in the farthest back corner of the room.

The sun was getting ready to set, shadows already beginning to swallow the buildings of Gotham. If the Italians didn't finish their meeting soon, Dick would have to shake the Bat on his way back to base again tonight. He'd so far managed to avoid being cornered, but each day the Bat got more and more desperate, which made Dick's task more and more difficult.

" _And what do we know about the people Nikolai will be bringing_ ," Alessandro asked his goons in their native Italian. The voice carried over to Dick only because he was listening specifically for it––and because Bruce had trained him many times over for just this kind of exercise.

" _Seems like his usual crew, sir_ ," the goon called Marco replied, also in Italian. " _His two bodyguards of course, his Krushas, and two errand boys. His assassin is staying home_."

 _That must be the still-absent Riley_ , Dick thought. _Wonder when she'll turn up. Wonder what she's been doing when she's not around._

" _So, he's keeping to the five-person limit_ ," Marco continued, undeterred by Dick errant thoughts. _"No idea yet who those two last will be, but Nikolai hasn't found anyone new in months, as far as we've seen. None of them pose any more threat than another_."

 _So, they don't know about me yet. That's good._

 _Not that they'd be worried about_ Richard Grayson _joining Nikolai's bratva,_ he thought derisively.

The Italians' conversation dropped below audible, so Dick pulled out his headphones––hooked into his laptop, but not playing anything––fixed his hoodie to better hide his appearance, and casually stretched his arms out above him as he moved to the counter to order another drink. Which just so happened to move him closer to Alessandro's table.

Dick turned to stare out the front window of the shop as he waited for his triple redeye––he needed it after being up so long doing recon for the upcoming meeting. He adopted the slouch and almost-fully-lidded eyes of a student that's been up for five too many nights. It wasn't hard. _Almost muscle-memory, really. Default posture for a Bat._

 _Not a Bat anymore, though_ , he reminded himself before managing to tune back into the Italians' conversation.

"… _won't be a problem, then. Okay, let's gather our supplies. We have two days_."

Alessandro stood up first, followed by his two goons. They left the café in V-formation, exiting onto dark streets. _Damn, there goes any chance of new information._ Dick knew from the last three nights of tailing Alessandro that he wouldn't speak another word about the meeting until they were safely inside their base of operations. The only reason the man spoke in the coffee shop at all––even in Italian––was because it was owned and operated by their mafia.

Dick accepted his drink and sat back down at his laptop. _Well, if I can't get anything more from Alessandro, might as well work my other leads._ Dick pulled up a new tab and deliberately ignored the missing persons file on the GPD internal servers for one "Richard John Grayson."

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Dick walked out onto Gotham's streets, hugging the shadows of the buildings. He'd made it three blocks before he recognized a shadow that didn't fit with the rest. _You'd think Gotham's 'Dark Knight' would have better things to do than to stalk sixteen-year-olds._

Dick pulled heavier into the shadows, acting like he was trying to hide his intentions from Bruce. He rounded a corner and immediately pulled into the alcove he knew was hidden there. The Bat's shadow passed by, chasing nothing. Dick waited a minute more before turning back the way he came. And thus began a long night of cat and mouse, whereby Bruce attempted to stop Dick from returning to Nikolai, and Dick attempted to simultaneously give Bruce the finger and remain out of the old man's sight. It wasn't easy, but Dick was a greater master of sass and angst than Bruce would ever be. At least, he liked to think so.

 _Of course, no one has anything on Alfred._

Dick shoved the thought away. Thoughts of Alfred were even more painful than thoughts of his old mentor, if that were possible.

At long last, Dick made it back to base––un-kidnapped, no less. Two _shestyorka_ were hanging out in the front living room. Dick greeted them with a tired smile and continued inside to the large meeting room in the back. Nikolai was leaning casually on the long table on the far side of the room––much like he had been Dick's first night here. He looked to be having a friendly conversation with Nadia––Jack and Dan hovering in the background, of course.

Something clenched in Dick's chest. Fear? Longing? Dick chose not to look too closely at it. Pushing forward, the ex-acrobat strode across the room. He came to a stop a couple steps away from the group.

Nikolai stopped his conversation and turned an intrigued eye on Dick. The younger boy's heart pounded off-beat.

"Yes, pretty boy?" Some of the only words Nikolai had actually spoken to him in all the days Dick had been here.

Dick forced himself to report his findings, just as he would if this were to Bruce after another night back from patrol. "Alessandro's finished his last meeting. Just some preparations left, it seems. He won't emerge from his base until it's time to meet. He's bringing five soldiers––Luca, Sofia, Marco, Angelo, and Anna. Luca is the most dangerous, from what I've found. Ex-marine and with dozens of theorized hits since he came back to the States; none confirmed." Unconfirmed: the most dangerous kind. It meant he was too good to be leave evidence connecting him to the hit. The BatComputer had a file on Luca.

"Sofia and Marco are his occasional body guards and his almost constant companions. I've rarely seen him this week without at least one of them. They seem to be his closest confidants. Anything he knows, they know. Marco's the muscle; Sofia's the spy. Angelo's the newest, as far as I can tell. Very little information on him other than that Alessandro found him street racing and decided to give him a job. Almost nothing on Anna. She doesn't look like much, but Alessandro wouldn't be taking her to this meeting if she wasn't good at what she does. She's the eyes, I think. Watches all; knows all.

"The location––"

Nikolai cut him off with a short wave of his right hand. "That's good for now, pretty boy. Write up the rest and leave it on my desk." It was a much kinder dismissal than most Bruce had used on him. Dick turned away to get to his appointed task. "You're remarkably good at this, you know." Dick turned back, his heart surging in fear of what Nikolai might know; in warmth at the compliment. "I'm glad I picked you for this mission," the older boy smiled. "You did well, pretty boy. You did very well."

Warmth exploded in his chest; Dick tried not to let it show on his face. The small grin that escaped belied the attempt.

* * *

Bruce stared frustrated at the computer screen showing footage from the camera Batman had placed across the street from the Russian base Dick was hiding in. Somehow the boy kept escaping him so Bruce couldn't drag him back to the Manor where he belonged.

"Maybe I trained him too well," Bruce mumbled to himself.

" _You_ trained him, sir?" Alfred asked skeptically. "I do believe Master Richard was sneaking up on you from the day he arrived here."

Bruce huffed out a small breath of air. It could hardly be considered a laugh, but it was the closest he'd probably gotten to one in the two weeks since his ward had runaway––maybe much longer. "I take it that _you_ trained him in the art of stealth, then, Alfred?" Bruce replied archly.

"But of course, sir. How else do you think he's managed to evade you so well this past week?"

Bruce sighed and leaned forward, his head falling into his hands. "If he refuses to even talk to me, then how am I supposed to get him out of there and keep him safe?"

"If I may, sir, have you actually tried talking to him?"

Bruce raised his head and tilted an eyebrow up at his longtime friend. The old man was casually tidying one of the weapons shelves. Too casually. This was another one of those instances in which Alfred tried to have a serious talk about 'emotions' with Bruce without the vigilante realizing it. Bruce was almost sure of it. "What are you asking, Alfred?"

Without turning from his task, the butler asked, "Have you actually tried talking with him, or have you spent the last week stalking him like one of those criminals you enjoy harassing?"

Bruce's eyes narrowed. He chose not to answer.

Alfred apparently thought his silence was answer enough. "That's what I thought."

Bruce growled, "Do you think I should just leave him there? It's not safe."

"It's just as safe as any of the other work you two have done all these years. Just a bit more personal. And it's not like you haven't worked any personal cases before." Alfred arched an eyebrow at the second computer screen Bruce had on. The same one that had been on since Harvey Dent had been attacked in a courtroom by Sal Maroni just over a year ago.

Bruce had yet to find any solid, jail-able evidence linking the Russians to Maroni; but he'd found plenty of circumstantial evidence––enough to base an investigation off, at least. Increased meeting frequencies between the Russians and Italians weeks before the attack. An uncharacteristic peace between the two normally antagonistic groups that lasted to this day. And, of course, the increased scrutiny and decreased police tolerance of the organized crime rings that Harvey had instigated when he began as district attorney.

To Bruce's detective instincts, it all added up to a conspiracy between the two mobs to get rid of the problem-causing DA. _To Dick's Stockholm Syndrome_ , Bruce thought angrily, _it added up to an opportunity to return to his abuser._

Bruce shook the thought off. It wasn't fair to Dick. Things were much more complicated than that, and Bruce had certainly played his own role in pushing the boy back into Nikolai's arms.

"I'm sure Dick thinks he can handle this," Bruce finally replied to Alfred through gritted teeth, "but he's still young. He underestimates the influence the Bolkov boy has over him and overestimates his own ability to maintain an extended cover. Especially one he's so personally invested in. It's why I refused to let him get involved with this whole investigation to begin with." Things were much easier when Dick had just obeyed his orders without question, trusting implicitly that Bruce was always right and knew best. When had things changed?

The Manor's doorbell rang through the Cave before Alfred could reply. A security camera popped up on screen to show Commissioner Gordon waiting patiently. Bruce glanced at the clock at the bottom of the screen. Seven AM. He'd been up all night again.

"I'll go get the door, sir, while you find something decidedly non-bat-themed to wear." Alfred strode up the stairs to the Manor, leaving Bruce to change out of the BatSuit.

By the time Bruce––faking early-morning tired rather than up-all-night exhausted––made it to the common room they used for these occasions, Alfred had already seated Gordon and prepared tea and coffee. How he managed to do so in such little time was a secret Bruce knew he'd never find out. (Dick had certainly tried enough times for the both of them.)

Gordon looked just as tired as Bruce felt. His graying, brown hair was in disarray, as if he had run his hands through it in frustration all night. His large, rectangular glasses were askew. Fatigue lined his face.

"Stopping by before work?" Bruce greeted his friend.

"After work, actually." Gordon stood to shake hands with Bruce before sitting back down. "I'm finally heading home to sleep, but I wanted to let you know about Dick's case before I did."

"The Manor is a long detour from your apartment," Bruce commented. "Thank you for thinking of me." Bruce sat down in an armchair across from Gordon. "What can you tell me?" Perhaps someone had spotted Dick coming and going from the Russians' base and the GPD could finally move on them.

Jim sighed heavily. _Never a good sign_. "The police force is putting the case on the backburner. We'll still be keeping an eye out, but we can't afford the manpower to actively search for him anymore." A heavy silence. "I'm sorry, Bruce. It's been two weeks. I want to see Dick back here and safe as much as you do––Barbra has barely spoken a word since he went missing––but there's only so much we can do for a missing persons case in a city like Gotham."

Bruce swallowed hard. It was the news he'd been expecting for days now––he was surprised the GPD had kept looking as long as they had––but it still hurt to hear. Now he was the only one trying to bring his boy back home. And he'd so far failed spectacularly at that.

"Dick's a smart kid, Bruce. He might not be found if he doesn't want to be."

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